i hope i die before i get old
Jul. 3rd, 2007 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolI habe had two of the most crappy, godawful shifts in work known to mankind. Highly suspect that Matron hates me.
Last night, you see, it was apparently all my fault that the washing had gone a bit wrong. Er. This is only half-true, but the woman who got the other half wrong blamed me. It's always the newbie's fault, and well, fair enough, I accept the responsibility. There are two sides to the nursing home, though, and I like the residential one, not the nursing one, and that's the side I was on last night, ergo I didn't know the schedule for turning people and who went to bed when and so on and so forth.
I think my favourite moment of the whole evening, though, was when two of us were sorting out J, who is a pain in the arse, the buzzer went. Woman I was working with sent me out to answer it, I did so remarkably speedily, returned to hear the woman I was working with bitching to Matron that I was 'neither use nor ornament' and she didn't know where I had 'disappeared off to.'
'Erm, I'm here,' I bleated disconsolately.
So, I came home last night debating whether to hit something or cry, because in all fairness I am picking this job up too slowly etc etc but bitching about me is really going to do no one any good.
And because I am a crazy person, I had earlier volunteered to do an 8-12 shift this morning. Ergo, I have just proved why Matron hates me. I did not the ususal one or two baths that everyone does once a week or so, but I did four. By myself. Now, this in itself wouldn't be so bad - one of the residents was charming, funny, asked me about myself and Simon, we had a laugh, she's someone I get on with very well.
However, two of them peed on me (one of them twice) and the other decided that opening her bowls all over the bath chair, the floor and my hands was clearly the way forwards. At least the 12-stone woman having panic attacks I had some help with, because possibly the way she was screaming the place down gave someone a clue that oh, I HAVE DONE ABOUT TWO WEEKS WORTH OF WORK IN THIS HOME.
...
I do not, in fact, hate my job. Despite, say, peeing on me, the residents are all rather sweet (well, most of them) but oh, there are days I could do without the staff. It's not my problem that no one wants to be a carer.
Today was meant to be my day off. I marked it by sailing out of work happily at midday and coming home and sleeping for four hours, and tonight I am going out!!! to the pub!!! where there will be people under 75!!! and drinks!!! and tomorrow I can sleep in!!!
Whinge, blah moan. On the bright side, Harry Potter is out soon! OH WHAT A SUMMER.
Last night, you see, it was apparently all my fault that the washing had gone a bit wrong. Er. This is only half-true, but the woman who got the other half wrong blamed me. It's always the newbie's fault, and well, fair enough, I accept the responsibility. There are two sides to the nursing home, though, and I like the residential one, not the nursing one, and that's the side I was on last night, ergo I didn't know the schedule for turning people and who went to bed when and so on and so forth.
I think my favourite moment of the whole evening, though, was when two of us were sorting out J, who is a pain in the arse, the buzzer went. Woman I was working with sent me out to answer it, I did so remarkably speedily, returned to hear the woman I was working with bitching to Matron that I was 'neither use nor ornament' and she didn't know where I had 'disappeared off to.'
'Erm, I'm here,' I bleated disconsolately.
So, I came home last night debating whether to hit something or cry, because in all fairness I am picking this job up too slowly etc etc but bitching about me is really going to do no one any good.
And because I am a crazy person, I had earlier volunteered to do an 8-12 shift this morning. Ergo, I have just proved why Matron hates me. I did not the ususal one or two baths that everyone does once a week or so, but I did four. By myself. Now, this in itself wouldn't be so bad - one of the residents was charming, funny, asked me about myself and Simon, we had a laugh, she's someone I get on with very well.
However, two of them peed on me (one of them twice) and the other decided that opening her bowls all over the bath chair, the floor and my hands was clearly the way forwards. At least the 12-stone woman having panic attacks I had some help with, because possibly the way she was screaming the place down gave someone a clue that oh, I HAVE DONE ABOUT TWO WEEKS WORTH OF WORK IN THIS HOME.
...
I do not, in fact, hate my job. Despite, say, peeing on me, the residents are all rather sweet (well, most of them) but oh, there are days I could do without the staff. It's not my problem that no one wants to be a carer.
Today was meant to be my day off. I marked it by sailing out of work happily at midday and coming home and sleeping for four hours, and tonight I am going out!!! to the pub!!! where there will be people under 75!!! and drinks!!! and tomorrow I can sleep in!!!
Whinge, blah moan. On the bright side, Harry Potter is out soon! OH WHAT A SUMMER.
